


What CAM Knows

by umqra1895



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: CAM is a dick, His Last Vow Spoilers, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, One Shot, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umqra1895/pseuds/umqra1895
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Augustus Magnussen exploits one of John's pressure points. A re-imagining of the face-flicking scene from His Last Vow</p>
            </blockquote>





	What CAM Knows

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to sleep, but then I wrote a thing in my head...then I had to share it with y'all, because it was so fucked up and twisted. Hooray.

“John, come here,” Magnussen said, a small smile playing on his lips.

            Sherlock forced himself to stand still, watching John as he hesitantly stepped forward on the terrace, staring Magnussen down defiantly. It was a small reconciliation; whatever Charles Augustus Magnussen did to John now, John would bear it with dignity. And Sherlock was quite positive that he knew everything that Magnussen had on John’s file already. There was nothing that this despicable man could bring up that would cause John Watson to break down.

            Sherlock was wrong. Magnussen knew it as soon as his mind fell upon one especially interesting pressure point of John Watson’s. He walked over to one of the guards who had checked them for weapons when they had arrived, and slipped a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, then stood behind John. “Give me your wrists, John,” he said lightly.

            John’s heart hammered, and he looked over at Sherlock, who gave him a stiff nod. John swallowed and forced himself to push his wrists out behind him. As the cold metal snapped around them, he realized just how trapped they really were. “I would love it if you would kneel, John,” Magnussen said in his light Danish accent.

            John couldn’t even meet Sherlock’s eyes now, and after a moment’s hesistation he awkwardly lowered himself to his knees on the pavement, feeling like a complete fool.

            “I was just reading some _very_ interesting things about you, John…” Magnussen said, carefully loosening his necktie behind him.

            Sherlock watched him with pure and utter loathing as the tidy man slipped his fine silk tie from his shirt collar and tied it around John’s head, blindfolding him. He wanted nothing more than to punch this man in the face, over and over and over again. He dug his nails into his palms and bit his tongue.

            “Does Sherlock know about your…rather unusual enjoyment?” Magnussen said, tightening the blindfold securely.

            _No, God, no_ , John thought, his heart pounding. He could feel Magnussen crossing around him and then he knew that Magnussen was standing right in front of him. His face burned. Sherlock couldn’t watch this. Sherlock couldn’t see.

            Magnussen held out his hand toward Sherlock and snapped his fingers once, then pointed at Sherlock’s scarf. Sherlock’s hands shook as he slowly moved them up to his coat, sliding the scarf from his neck and handing it over. Oh, he was most definitely going to kill this man. The second he got a chance.

            “Open your mouth, John,” Magnussen said.

            John shook his head. No, this was too much. He shifted uncomfortably. “Sherlock—“ he said softly, his voice half-pleading.

            “Do what he says, John,” Sherlock forced out, his voice barely audible.

            Magnussen gave a light giggle. “See, I love this. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, and he is wrestling with how he feels about it. You can see, can’t you? How his little brain is struggling with it all?”

            Sherlock could see it, and that was the worst thing. John clearly wanted this on some level, but on another level John’s hatred for Magnussen was burning just as strongly much as Sherlock’s was.

            John’s face was a heap of embers. He reluctantly opened his mouth, then let out a startled noise as Sherlock’s scarf was forced between his teeth and tied tightly behind him, gagging him.

            And the worst part was, despite how much he hated it, he could feel his erection pushing against his trousers. He breathed heavily through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Not this. Not Magnussen. How dare he. This wasn’t right. But the more humiliated he felt, the heavier and needier his cock became.

            “John never did admit to you that humiliation is one of his greatest turn-ons, did he?” Magnussen said, bending over toward John and splaying his nimble, sweaty fingers over John’s hair. “Then again, why would he? He never told his wife…”

            John shuddered as Magnussen’s fingertips trailed down his face, and Magnussen laughed lightly, his fingers trailing down John’s body, lower and lower.

            “Don’t….move…” He said lightly in John’s ear, watching Sherlock the entire time.

            Sherlock was quivering with rage. Magnussen’s command was clearly to both of them and it took all of Sherlock’s willpower to obey. He had to obey. This man could destroy them both in less than 24 hours, and they would be able to do nothing but stand by helplessly as he ground the final piece of their lives into dust.

            He had to look away when Magnussen’s fingers trailed to John’s straining erection. He couldn’t bear to watch John’s face flush beneath the blindfold and the gag, to see his wrists strain against the handcuffs and to hear his sharp intake of breath at the touch.

            “Stop it,” Sherlock snapped.

            Magnussen ignored him, beginning to rub between John’s legs carefully and deliberately. “You see how he struggles with it? That’s the best part,” he said, watching John’s face earnestly.

            John was a wreck. His breath was coming fast and part of himself wanted to lose himself to this man, to just let it happen—but the larger part was screaming to escape, to not let him win. 

            “And having _you_ here…here in front of him, forced to watch it all…that makes it even better for him. The man he respects the most in the whole world, watching him succumb to his dirty little pleasure. What could be more humiliating than that?” Magnussen said, his cold eyes turning to Sherlock.

            John gave a needy moan, and he was mortified when his hips pushed forward into the touch. He was soaking Sherlock's scarf with his saliva, and he bit down on it, vowing not to make another sound.

            “You’re sick,” Sherlock spat.

            “Then stop me,” Magnussen said, giving the detective a small smile as his hand on John sped up.

            It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it, Sherlock chanted to himself. He had to detach. He had to be logical. One embarrassing moment for them both was not worth their entire lives. Magnussen was trying to goad them both and it was working. But Sherlock was better than that. John was better than that. They had to be.

            John was whimpering now, making noises that he had hoped Sherlock would never, ever hear.

            “What did I tell you, Sherlock?” Magnussen said, stroking John harder through his trousers. “The whole world is wet to my touch…”

            John was on the edge of an orgasm, writhing in his kneeling position and struggling against his handcuffs. God, if he came in his trousers, he would die of shame.

            And that’s when Magnussen pulled away completely, leaving John panting and desperate. John made a needy noise through the gag, and Magnussen smiled, stepping behind the kneeling, panting man. He pulled a napkin from his pocket and wiped his hands. “…And sometimes it doesn’t even take a touch,” he said to Sherlock, then leaned down to John’s ear, so close that his lips brushed them. His voice was intimate, but it was loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

            “I don’t think that Sherlock knows that you think about him nearly every time that you masturbate, either,” he said.

            John came, panting and biting down on his gag. Magnussen was right. He hadn’t even needed a touch. The mere thought of Sherlock knowing that he fantasized about him was humiliating enough to send John over the edge. He could feel the dampness in his trousers and was nearly on the edge of tears, panting and seething through the gag.

            “John-“ Sherlock murmured, wanting to say something, anything, that would make this situation better, but he was lost for words. He could only stare at Magnussen with pure, murderous loathing.

            “But we didn’t come here to talk about John, did we?” Magnussen stepped over John’s toward Sherlock. “Let me show you where I keep my files…” He said to Sherlock, guiding him inside, leaving John still bound, gagged, and panting on the terrace.

 


End file.
